


The Beacon

by sigmalied



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Prothean Beacon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 22:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigmalied/pseuds/sigmalied
Summary: Newly occupying the highest ambassadorial office in her government, Councilor Tevos must follow in the footsteps of her predecessors and inundate her conscience with ancient secrets that would shake their society if revealed.





	

Blurred walls of glinting glass flickered by the tinted windows as her car navigated the heart of the city, passing museums, cultural centers, and parks without the slightest detour. Three other people accompanied her in the dim interior. A commando-trained pilot and copilot in the front seating, and beside herself, Matriarch Caesya, who peered forward always and never to one side to capture sight of Tevos nor the wealth of Thessian architecture. She rather confined herself to a severe, contemplative silence, reflected first by the commandos, then by Tevos, who had little choice but to comply with the grim atmosphere. 

The councilor didn’t quite know what to expect. Part of her still held fast to skepticism, thinking the object nowhere near as consequential as her government insisted. Yes, there existed mysterious ruins beneath the solemn dunes of wasteland planets, peeking out of distant empyrean glaciers, and submerged in the deep, turbulent seas of new colonies. She’d seen various records and understood that a great deal could be gleaned from the ancient Prothean geometry; a cursory glimpse into brilliant minds long expired yet refusing to be forgotten. But what could warrant such stringent secrecy, in an age where the pursuit of knowledge was frequently an open, collaborative effort?

Not even three days after she assumed office as asari councilor a classified report arrived at her desk, accompanied by Matriarch Caesya of Asari High Command, who had been personally tasked with ensuring its delivery. Tevos had stared at the manila folder for a very long time, pondering its print on physical paper which could never be electronically traced, and readily incinerated after its contents had been examined. When she opened the document, Tevos had read, under the austere and concentrated supervision of the matriarch, a detailed summary regarding an… _artifact_ on their homeworld, a functional piece of information storing technology. She initially understood that it was not unlike a time capsule, reaching out from buried eons to those living at present, holding out to them insight through barely-interpretable schematics and star charts. But as she dove deeper into the records, her consternation grew exponentially.

Matriarch Caesya did and said little to reassure her of the accuracy of the report. Her bearing suggested that she had not even expected Tevos to believe her. Evidently few did, historically, and she brusquely informed Tevos that arrangements had already been made to facilitate her transport to the site in question: the Temple of Athame.

“We cannot effectively deliberate on that which we do not unanimously know to exist,” was all the attempt Caesya made to convince her. Her apathy toward Tevos’s state of belief was as cold as it was intriguing. She cared not for what Tevos surmised at present, but only for what existed unequivocally in material truth; that which was undeniable upon palpable confirmation. Even if Tevos never believed, still the Temple stood, indifferent to her ignorance.

They were upon the Temple now, touching down on a landing platform after being granted clearance. Tevos emerged from the car in her cream overcoat before she was herded by her escort through a winding pathway and up the preponderance of steps where sparse crews milled. Supervisors and engineers congregated beneath the arches of the grand entrance, discussing its façade while manual laborers ostensibly transported materials with vehicles and biotics. Prominent signs littered the site, all announcing to the public the Temple’s closure for extensive renovations. The misleading claim was reinforced incontrovertibly by a barrier shimmering beneath an opaque tarp that gently undulated in the late autumn air, both protecting the entryway.

Tevos had been to the Temple before. She had attended university in the next city over where she received her first degree in law. To her recollection, twice had her maiden self peered through the glass-enclosed relics of ancient asari history, entertained and stimulated for an hour or so before seeking a nice lunch somewhere nearby, then eventually returning to her studies. Aside from the abnormally limited admissions which needed to be reserved months ahead of time, there had always been a generous security presence in the Temple on each of her visits. She remembered spying them standing against the walls, unwaveringly vigilant, and only peeling themselves away from their posts to sternly caution those who activated a soft alarm upon venturing too close to the magnificent idol of Athame. Strange, she had once thought, that the revered centerpiece of the Temple was also the most heavily restricted attraction. Now… she knew why.

Their company found themselves in the midst of a dozen armed military personnel, who checked them before temporarily powering down the force field. Their commandos remained behind, leaving only Tevos and Matriarch Caesya to proceed alone toward the heart of the Temple, where Tevos suddenly felt unfathomably small upon stepping into the shadow of the Goddess. 

“Councilor Tevos,” said the matriarch as they strode abreast, “you are witness to an event that has not occurred in four hundred years. What you are seeing here is something that can never be discussed outside the highest echelons of our government. Not with your dearest sister, your most beloved bondmate, nor your eldest daughter. Doing so could upset the balance of galactic power to an extent only seen before in the most pivotal moments of our people’s recorded history. I doubt you would want your name attributed to such an upheaval. But even if you did, by some ailing lapse of judgement… we have ways of dissuading it. Not to unnerve you, of course. Only to inform you.”

As the matriarch spoke in her divested, impersonal tone, Tevos’s gaze was titled ever upward as they approached, tracing along the scaffolding beams that rounded Athame’s shoulders. Scientists clad in full-body hazard suits pried and chiseled at the thick enamel of the idol with careful, surgical precision. Although Tevos knew what supposedly lied beneath, indignity wrenched instinctually within her at the defacement of sacred art and culture. But then she saw it—an ominous, iridescent gleam; dark yet verdant in its angular veins, steadily oscillating its luminosity. As she and the matriarch slowed to a stop, Tevos felt a unique weakness in her legs, unlike any she had experienced before. 

Awe flooded her, humbled her before the miraculous pure knowledge contained physically over the arduous ages. She felt something very peculiar, as if the beat of her heart had invigorated, but its cause was elsewhere and outside herself, perhaps the gleaming pillar itself. A deep, gentle, incomprehensible hum was reverberating through the very molecules of her body, compelling her toward enlightenment, toward the burden and curse of all that had been and all that had yet to come.

The sublimity of the draw frightened her. A light tremble had arisen in her fingertips, taking her as a withdrawal might. It was only quelled when she slipped them into the pockets of her overcoat and held still to the best of her ability. However did the scientists, who labored in such proximity to the obelisk, manage to keep their focus when in the presence of the artifact? It seemed to crave interface, seeking a worthy conscience in which to implant its vast recount, its supreme premonition. 

A hand lain upon her shoulder jolted Tevos from her daze. “Are you well, Councilor?” Matriarch Caesya asked. “You were… shaking, a bit.”

Tevos glanced downward, swallowed her frayed nerves, and met the matriarch’s eyes with assurance. “Forgive me. The obvious… _enormity_ of this object caught me by surprise. I confess I hadn’t adequately braced myself for it. I don’t think I shall ever experience anything quite like this again.”

“Indeed,” she concurred, but still she monitored Tevos, who returned her gaze to the excavation with an aspect of narrow determination etched in her features as she clutched purposely at the lapels of her coat, keeping her hands preoccupied. “Here, Councilor. Let us take a step back and allow them ample space.”

The councilor heeded her, but not without a substantial moment of hesitation during which she found herself unable to tear her gaze away, let alone unroot herself from where she lingered, fascinated.

“The archive is beneath our feet,” the matriarch insisted. She was determined to replenish the inertia Tevos had lost and see her interest mobile again. At present, the councilor was fixated to a nearly worrisome degree. She wondered if Tevos was overwhelmed. “The entrance—a narrow stairway—is at the base of the statue, at the back. It has already been uncovered. If you would accompany me, Councilor Tevos, you may access files of special relevance. They should sufficiently answer your questions.”

At the promise of intelligence Tevos was moved at last. She transversed the few steps separating herself from the matriarch, holding her arms loosely about herself in a decidedly self-protective posture. One final glance at the monolith was all she spared before she and the matriarch disappeared beneath where an extraordinary database unfurled at their whim. Contained in a very small, featureless chamber, the interface was in immaculate condition. A smooth slab of unknown alloy, the very same material the beacon was hewn or forged from, both cold and warm to the touch at once. Information transfer was eidetic, manifesting in vibrant holograms that erupted along every surface of the chamber, engulfing them in impossible light.

When Tevos had the chance to sleep aboard her transport back to the Citadel, images of what she had seen arose again behind her eyelids, burned there in memory and in dream. Restlessness gripped her. She lied stiffly, posed as if she were being interred. Perhaps she was, in the sense that all her understanding of history, culture, and technology, had been subverted, killed, _corrected_ in a matter of hours. Long-standing paradigm throttled from her body; a forced vacation of perception and identity. 

She wondered if all her predecessors had felt as equally hollowed by the traditional disclosure. Maybe she was but an outlier. Just an oversensitive matron when held against the colossal minds of matriarch-councilors, unable to comprehend the brutal gravity and truth of what had graced her modest intellect. 

Or maybe she understood more. 


End file.
